


La Petite Mort

by Jackrabbit



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: BDSM, Breathplay, Choking, F/M, Femdom, Hand Jobs, Masturbation, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-04
Updated: 2017-02-04
Packaged: 2018-09-21 22:56:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9570581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jackrabbit/pseuds/Jackrabbit
Summary: Vax dreams of wants and his divine patron.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys!
> 
> Firstly, I feel obligated as someone who is actually into kink and especially breathplay in real life, I want to put a note here that you should always take every possible precaution before starting a scene and not just jump into it like these guys did. Also, if you're going to choke someone, do it "safely", don't put pressure on their windpipe, you'll actually long-term damage them. Despite me describing it as "cutting off breath", you shouldn't actually be doing that. Be safe in your fun, guys!
> 
> Secondly, all the sex is in the second chapter, for y'all's smut-seeking convenience. The first chapter is setup that I think makes it a better story, but if you're just looking for sex, head to chapter 2.
> 
> Thirddly, I apologize if any details are non-canon-compliant, I wrote this all in one rush after binging the series a bunch. Details get a little fuzzy when you do that.
> 
> Finally, this is my first time actually *publishing* the smut I write, so I hope you guys enjoy!

He sleeps, and he dreams.

\--

He’s been thinking about this for a while. He knows that it used to be different, but no longer remembers how he dreamed before this, this... change. Before his budding faith in the divine was co-opted by a being who he had barely given a passing thought, before he offered himself for the other half of his soul. He thought that would be the end of it, that it would be simple. That his life would end so that Vex’ahlia’s would not. 

Instead, he lays in bed, shifting restlessly night after night. He rarely wakes before sunrise, and the dreams often fade quickly after he does, leaving him with a sense of longing that he can’t quite place and a lingering tension coiled in his body. It feels like flying. It feels like...

It doesn’t feel like love, but it feels a little like wanting. He knows what love feels like, of all types; this doesn’t feel the way he feels about his sister, or the way he feels about Keyleth. Being around his sister feels like being completed, like something clicking into place in the back of his mind. Being around Keyleth feels like basking in a sunbeam, being safe and protected for once in his life. This feels a little like the way he used to before he kissed Keyleth the first time. A deep feeling, something below conscious thought.

The dreams don’t leave quite as much of an impact the nights that they’re all in the field. Those nights he spends curled up in a tangled pile against Trinket with Vex and whichever other members of his family need the warmth. Those nights, he primarily doesn’t dream.

The nights he spends in Keyleth’s bed are often dreamless as well. Aside from the odd nightmare, the sleep he has those nights is eventless and dark. He chalks these up to simple exhaustion; through one means or another, those are primarily the nights that he is well and truly worn out.

He thinks, once or twice, that it might be that his new patron cannot reach him through the shield of his family. He isn’t quite sure what he thinks of that thought, and he puts it out of mind.

(He does not even once think that it might be because she might not want to intrude. Not while awake.)

\--

Vax and Keyleth are remarkably bad at having the conversations they should really be having, they both know, but this one they do manage to have. Keyleth spends some time talking to Pike beforehand, and gets her words laid out mostly the way she wants them before she starts.

“The Ashari do things... a little differently than the rest of the world. Apparently. I think.” They’re curled up in her bed in Scanlan’s mansion, fully clothed but pressed shoulder to shoulder for comfort.

Vax frowns slightly. “What do you- how? That’s a very broad statement, Kiki. What do you do differently?”

He feels her shift and knows that she’s trying to keep from panicking and babbling. “Relationships,” she finally offers. “I know we haven’t really set rules about what we’re doing, or really talked about it much, but I talked to Pike and she thinks I should probably explain this sooner rather than later.”

Another pause. This time he fills the time by covering her hand with his own. She doesn’t move to reciprocate, but she doesn’t pull away, either.

“The Ashari,” she starts again, then clears her throat and laughs nervously. “The Ashari only believe in exclusive relationships as a commitment to child-rearing.”

Vax blinks. Then blinks again. And again. “Are you. Are you asking me to-”

“What? Oh gods, no.” Keyleth jerks around to face him more directly. When he turns to mirror her, her eyes are wide with panic. “No, no, I’m just. Oh, no, I didn’t mean that-”

“Okay. That’s. That’s probably good, given what we do for a living.”

She laughs and ducks her head against his shoulder, a nervous edge still coloring her voice. “Yeah. Yeah, no kids right now. No kids.”

They stay like that for a long few minutes before Vex prompts again: “So if that wasn’t your intention, what was?”

Keyleth sighs before answering. “I just. I want you to understand me. Where I come from, the only people who completely cut off the possibility of other relationships are the people who are committing to raising a family together. Sometimes that’s two people, sometimes it’s more. It’s a... a focus, a commitment. And the people who aren’t raising children are free to have as many relationships as they please, as long as all their partners get along and agree to it.”

“Huh,” says Vax, eloquently.

“Not that everyone is in multiple relationships! Not everyone is even in one relationship. But for those who want it, who have enough love to give to multiple people, the option is always open.”

“Huh,” says Vax again. “And when you say relationship, you mean romance?”

“Mostly,” she replies. “Though some are more... casual, I guess. Not that I really know first-hand, I didn’t really have the time to try it out before I left of my Aramente, I was always so busy, I just-”

“Keyleth,” Vax interrupts, “Are you telling me this because you’re in love with someone else? Because if so I’m gonna need some time to process.”

Keyleth’s head jerks up, and Vax can see her cheeks are flushed. “Oh! No. I’m not. But I think you might be.”

Vax sputters in confusion and protest. She keeps talking anyway. “Or, maybe you’re not currently, but I think you’re one of those people who has so much love to give that it might hurt you to cut yourself off from people you love.”

Vax splutters to a stop and stares at her for a long moment. “Keyleth, I love _you_ ,” he finally says weakly.

She smiles and kisses his cheek gently. “I know,” she says. “But I want you to know that you can also love someone else.”

\--

That night, though he sleeps wrapped around Keyleth’s warm, affectionate form, he wakes in the morning once again aching for something he knows he knew but can’t quite remember.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut!

Days later, he dreams.

Once asleep, he remembers some about previous times he has been here, this dark endless chamber where he always meets her. The room is always slightly different, her presence is always the same.

Her. His divine patron. The Raven Queen.

He doesn’t touch down, exactly, on the infinitely long golden threads, but he does stop moving. He can’t see her yet, but he often can’t.  He knows she’s there, though. He can always tell.

“I’m here,” he says. “What do you need of me?”

Sound is strange in this place sometimes. Some nights the sound dies just out of his mouth. Tonight, it carries. Echos, twists, rings for eternities.

He can feel her behind him before he sees any change in the room. It comes in the form of a chill down his spine, followed by a sense of detached pleasure that, for lack of a better term, slides into his brain from behind. Language is not meant for describing such beings, he thinks, not for the first time.

 _Of course you are here,_ his patron says. The sound echoes through the chamber, but also seems to form directly within his mind. _I sent for you, and here you are._

When she touches him for the first time that evening, he shivers. She draws what feels like a finger down the side of his neck, then brushes his braid aside to cup the back of his neck.

 _My Champion_ , she says, delicate as ever, and presses herself against his back.

She’s taller than him, for now, and tucks her chin over the top of his. Her black hair falls, alternately in slowly swirling tendrils and sheer silken curtains, blocking some of his view of the web of gold. When she wraps her long, porcelain arms around his shoulders, he relaxes back against her in a way that only weeks ago would have been inconceivable.

_Tell me of what occurs in your life._

The sound doesn’t quite vibrate into him the way it would in reality, but it does linger. Vax shrugs as best he can with he arms holding him in place. “You watch me, don’t you? You know what goes on.”

 _Yes,_ she tells him. _But I would hear you speak of it nonetheless._

So he does. He begins somewhat reluctantly, but he answers. He tells her of Vex’ahlia, who she has held an interest in since he gave her his life, and the frustration he has with keeping her safe. He tells her of Percival’s newest toys, and of the discussions he has with Pike on how they serve their deities. And he tells her of Keyleth and the discussion she initiated.

As he trails off awkwardly, he senses her amusement behind him.

“What?”

 _It is good of her to speak with you,_ she tells him. _Perhaps now you will stop feeling guilty about your longings._

“What?” he repeats.

 _Come now, my Champion._ She seems distantly amused, and she begins to slide one spindly, cold hand down his arm. He notices that he is, of course, wearing his armor, though he can feel her touch as if he were not. _Surely you remember._

And with that, he does. He remembers the wanting, leaning his cheek into her touch, pressing his body to hers, pulling away with thoughts of Keyleth.

“Oh,” he says. Then: “But-”

_All of my Champions have loved me, Vax’ildan. In one way or another. I welcome your devotion in any form it takes._

“Oh,” he says again, and falls silent.

In the fading of the sound of his voice, she starts to run her hands across his chest and sides. Again he is struck by his sensitivity to her touch, as though he were not wearing his armor, or anything at all. Her fingers are, as always, as cold as he can imagine anything being, and leave gooseflesh in their wake. When they trail over a nipple, he shivers and brings his hands up to grasp her forearms.

“Oh,” he repeats, and kicks himself internally for the tremor in his voice.

He feels her amusement through the press of his back to her form and hears her confirm, _Oh._

They stay in silence for a while, her hands stroking his torso and occasionally toying with his nipples. He feels a warm flush start in his cheeks and spread down his neck, and the heat that has been pooling in his stomach spreads out to meet it. His armor, for all that it provides no barrier to her touch, does seem to be keeping its shape; his cock has begun to harden and is pressed against the sturdy leather and cloth. He reaches awkwardly behind him to try and lay his hands on her-

Where he is suddenly stopped by gold and black threads, wrapped around his wrists. In the nature of dreams, nothing has shifted, but everything has changed; he finds himself suspended, legs and arms pulled wide. The Raven Queen is still wrapped around him from behind, though her chin is on his shoulder now. He swallows hard, noticing that the top half of his armor has also vanished.

 _My Vax’ildan,_ his patron says from behind him. _Do you give yourself to me?_

Vax doesn’t struggle, though he does tug on them slightly. The pressure, the lack of give, sends a thrill straight through his skin to his groin, and he feels himself twitch and harden further, the confines of his remaining armor becoming uncomfortable.

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

 _That is not what I meant,_ the voice from behind him tells him. _This is something that you have wanted but not yet given me. If you do not wish to give this part of yourself to me, I will not take it. You must be willing. I will not force you._

Vax swallows hard, and thinks. He thinks of Keyleth, of her encouragements. He thinks of the countless mornings he has woken aching for something he could not quite remember. He thinks of previous tumbles, before he met Keyleth, and all that was missing from those. He thinks of love, and sex, and devotion.

“Yes,” he says. “I am willing.”

Confirmation and approval comes in the form of one of her icy hands sliding down onto his cock, and he bucks into her hand with an involuntary shout. The sound echoes, hangs in the air, for what seems like forever. She doesn’t wrap her fingers around it, doesn’t press, just cups him and slides up and down gently. It feels better than anything that cold has any right to.

He rocks against her as best he can given his bindings and a quiet whimper escapes him. This, too, hangs in the air. The webbing around his wrists vibrates gently with it, and he can’t help but make the sound again.

 _Shush, my Champion. Let me,_ she tells him, and then she finally brings her long, frigid fingers around him and strokes up the length of him.

This time a shout escapes him again, and the bindings vibrate harder against his skin. He feels her approval at the back of his skull, and then she begins to move her hand smoothly. Up and down and up again, torturously slow. He can’t help but marvel again at how incredible it feels, a tight smooth ring of cold sliding against his cock. She must have watched him touch himself at some point, because she knows exactly what to do; she knows how sensitive the head is, how he likes his balls cupped and tugged lightly, the pattern of strokes he uses to build his pleasure slowly. She coaxes more whimpers and quiet moans from his lips, setting the restraints around his wrists and ankles abuzz and making him gasp and squirm to the best of his ability. He gets the impression that she is watching the slide of her hand against the length of him, fascinated, and the she is pleased with the results.

He holds back as long as he can, letting her set the pace, but eventually his self-control gives out and he tries to thrust into her grip. She lets him try for a few seconds, then she wraps her free hand around his throat. Her hand is cold as death, applying light pressure, and his hips jerk into her hand in surprise and pleasure. He feels her pleasure and approval and she squeezes his neck tighter, turning his head to one side. She also releases his cock, though, and he whines quietly with the loss.

 _If you truly wish me to stop, you will find the bindings released,_ she murmurs. He nods, and he feels her approval again, before her hand returns to his cock and begins to stroke slowly again.

She tortures him for what feels like years, never speeding up her strokes but moderating the peaks of his pleasure by cutting off his air supply. Never mind that it is a dream, and that he shouldn’t need air, but the threat of losing that ability under her hands does incredible things to his mind and his cock. Twice he nearly peaks, even with how slow she moves, and twice she brings him back down from the edge.

“Please,” he says after the second, the word tumbling from his lips almost without his consent. “Please, please.”

The emotion he feels from her as she digs her fingers into the sides of his neck can be described no better than a smirk. _Please what, my Champion?_

“Please,” he begs, “please, let me-”

And suddenly she is in front of him, though her hands have not left their places on his body. He has only a brief moment when he sees that she has abandoned her porcelain mask, that the face before him is that of the mortal she once was, before she kisses him and the curtain of her hair cuts off all his ability to see. The hand on his neck tightens further and further, at odds with the delicate nature of her lips against his, though the hand on his cock still refuses to speed up. As his head grows fuzzy from the lack of breath and his pleasure builds, he tries to kiss back harder, but he cannot move, he’s so hard and so close and he can’t see, he can’t think, he can’t, he can’t

\--

He wakes with a gasp and jerks upright, moonlight pouring in his window. He can feel his chest heaving, the sweat rolling down his back and plastering strands of his hair to his face. An imprint of a cold hand feels as though it’s still wrapped around his neck, a stark contrast to the inferno roiling in him, the tight coil of heat low in his belly. He coughs and feels his abdominal muscles clench tightly. He feels alive. His lungs burn. His throat aches. His cock pulses, hot and hard and trapped under the few layers of  clothing he wears to sleep. He’s kicked free of his blankets in his sleep; his body must have thrashed as much in real life as he could not in the dream.

He spends only a few moments taking stock of his situation before he’s flat on his back again, his right hand is freeing himself from his clothes and wrapping around his cock, curling around it as the other curls around his neck. His hands are colder than the rest of him, though not as cold as hers. Still, it is almost enough for him to be able to pretend, and if he screws his eyes shut as tight as he can, he can almost see the threads of gold mingling with the black silk of her hair.

 _This is for you_ , he thinks desperately, jerking his hips up quickly to shove the sensitive head of his cock through his fist. F _or you, for you, for you._ He was close to falling apart when he awoke and he’s even closer now, no finesse to his technique as he pushes himself as fast as he can toward the brink. He digs the blunt, uneven nails of his left hand into the sides of his neck, throws his head back, mouths the words like the most sincere prayer ever given in all of history, _for you, for you, take it, my Lady, please, for_ ** _you_** **,**

and he shatters

falls

_flies_

\--

When he comes back to himself, he doesn’t have to open his eyes to realize how much of a mess he’s made. The front of his shirt is striped with fluid and nearly as uncomfortable against the skin as the sweat-soaked back of it, the tie has probably come out of his braid, and he’s fairly sure the blankets have finally given up their tenuous hold on the bed and slid to the floor. He hasn’t come with so much force since he was a teenager with dry spells induced by a lack of privacy. He feels cold. He feels tired. He feels alive.

He’s finally considering opening his eyes when he suddenly feels a soft, cold touch to the side of his face. He might have jumped, despite the infinite gentleness of it, were he not so worn out.

 _My Champion_ , the familiar cold tingle purrs against his ear, _My beautiful, devoted Champion._ Her voice carries with it a true warmth and possessiveness he has never heard from her before, and he shivers. Ethereal lips touch his momentarily, like snowflakes, and when they pull back he knows that she has left.

He touches the tender, darkening crescents on his neck, and he smiles.


End file.
